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Maundy Thursday It is our night for remembering. Tonight we remember the mighty acts when God brought the children of Israel out of the land of bondage. Tonight, we remember our Lord’s last supper, this last vignette of his earthly pilgrimage which so defines the Church and our faith as Christians. We remember, too, in the time of remembrance, what our place is as we sit around this communion table. Are we like Judas Iscariot, with a heart of betrayal? Are we willing to sell out our Lord for a mere 30 shekels? Will we go into this night, and have our thoughts or actions turn against the one with whom we share this meal? Or are we more like Peter, burning hot with enthusiasm? Will we ask Jesus to wash all of us and make us clean? Will we say that we are going to Calvary with him? But as soon as trouble appears, will we then say that we never knew him? Will we, before the cock crows twice in the morning, once again deny him? Will we say, with fear in our breast, that we have no association with this man and the cross he bid us carry? Or are we like James and John, falling asleep in Gethsemane? Before this night is out, will we give into the temptation of simply closing our eyes, and shutting out the passion? Will we, like them, fall asleep, when this one time, all that he asked of us is that we stay awake? Or are we like all the others who, in terror, fled into the night? Will we, like them, run for our lives when the soldiers come to take him away? Will we hide ourselves to escape the aweful fate Jesus chose for himself? Yes, they had all been in that upper room. They had all been there, when he astounded them, by taking a basin, and bending down, as he stooped to wash their feet. Not one had left the table as he told them that as he had loved them, so now they must love one another. All were there in the warm glow of that last supper. But by day’s end, not one of the twelve stood by his side. All had abandoned him, betrayed him, denied him, fallen asleep, and taken flight. And in remembering them, we cannot forget how much they are like us. We too fall short. We too are desperate. We, too, despite our best intentions, let our Lord down. And this is precisely why Jesus leaves this table, and goes in chains alone, to face his accusers. It is why he goes alone to endure their taunts and ridicule and beatings. It is why Jesus goes alone to his execution. He does all this so that we are not left alone with our failure, with our fear, with our denial, with our betrayal. He does this so that these sins, these shortcomings, may be forgiven. It is a hard thing to remember what Jesus did for us on this night long ago. We are only human, and it is nearly beyond our comprehension. But in closing, I want to read to you an excerpt of a figure in our lifetime who understood something, I believe, of the emotion and meaning of the Last Supper. He is Bishop Hassan Dehqani-Tafti, who was the Anglican Bishop of Iran from 1961 until 1990. In the wake of the 1979 Revolution, there was an attempt on his life, that caused he and his wife, he went into exile. And then, tragically, the next year his only son, 24 year old Bahram, was murdered by government agents. Unable to attend the funeral, he wrote this prayer to be read at the ceremony: “O God, Bahram’s blood has multiplied the fruit of the Spirit in the soil of our souls; So when his murderers stand before Thee on the day of judgment, Remember the fruit of the Spirit by which they have enriched our lives. And forgive.” And, so, tonight, we remember. That God so loves the world that he gave his only son that whosoever believes in him shall not perish, but have eternal life. |
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